A Wasted Opportunity
by alicekinsno1
Summary: Yet another Mao and C.C. fic. C.C. tries to get Mao to focus on something besides her by revealing his true identity. This fails miserably. Second chapter is Mao's early family life.


A Wasted Opportunity

_So I wrote this story in exploration of two pet theories about Mao's identity that I've been mulling over, just for fun. One of the theories is my own idea; the other was brought to my attention by someone on another site. There's also a bit of meta. I OWN NOTHING!!_

It was fixing to be another perfectly ordinary day in the little wooded area where C.C. and Mao made their home. The two of them woke up together before the sun rose, and Mao began slathering on sunscreen at once, as reflexively as blinking by now.

"I'll meet you outside in the garden," C.C. called to him, as she began to gather buckets to carry water in. She hooked three buckets up to a rope, which dangled over the water; and dunked them by slackening the rope on her side, on the shore. The set-up, which included several loops of rope around the tree to disperse the force from the buckets, was Mao's idea. "He should go to engineering school once he becomes immortal," C.C. mused.

But Mao was beginning to worry her. The older he got, the more apparent it became that he had no interests outside of her. He always spoke of her happiness, her comfort, all the little favors the two of them exchanged. At first C.C. had enjoyed the power she had over him. When he was six years old, those innocent, gentle smiles of adoration, those kisses and cuddles he had smothered her with every time she let her guard down, were even enough to take someone as hard-hearted as her in; it was hard to resist such a sweet, affectionate, docile little boy, so utterly in love with her.

She thought nothing of it when Mao still treated her that way after turning eight.

Or ten.

But now he was eleven, and wouldn't be a child much longer. C.C. began to fear that if she didn't deflect his interest to something other than her, when the time came to kill her there would be... complications. It was hard enough, after all, for C.C. to kill that old nun, and she hadn't been six when she received her Geass.

But she had only been ten, and she had dealt with it. As would Mao. At the end of the day, anybody would when it really mattered.

"C.C.!" Mao was right behind her, folding his arms. "Do I have to do all the work around here? Why are you so mopey today?!"

"Oh, it's... nothing," said C.C.

"You're the one who always insists we get up early to water the fruits and vegetables," Mao pressed.

"And I meant it," said C.C., without emotion. "Here, help me carry these buckets." She handed one to Mao and took the remaining two herself, and they walked over in the direction of the fields where they grew most of the crops they ate now. They worked all day long watering and weeding, stopping only briefly to have a small lunch. C.C. had just the thing to get Mao more outward-thinking, and she thought all day long of how and when to say it.

In the evening, when Mao and C.C. had time to sit around and talk, Mao said: "You seem kinda out of it. What's going on?"

"Oh," said C.C., "Well, you see, Mao...," she had been waiting for this, "It's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time. You see..., I think you're the Chinese emperor's son."

Mao gasped and stared at her, not in amazement, but in sheer disbelief. "You're making that up."

"No, I'm not," said C.C. "I found you when you were only six years old. Do you really think I would have given superpowers to someone your age without good reason?"

"Well... I guess not...," said Mao, "But just how do you know that? If I'm the Chinese emperor's son then why don't I live with him?"

"You're probably illegitimate," said C.C. "I don't think he ever married your mother."

"How do you know so much?" Mao asked again.

"Well, I was just hanging around China when I came upon the idea that the emperor may have an illegitimate child around somewhere. I wanted somebody to give my special powers to, so I decided that he would be a good candidate, and I tracked you down by looking for information about your mother and interviewing people."

"Okay," said Mao, "But... if the Chinese emperor never married my mother what happened to him?"

"There's a pretty good chance he jilted her, when she was pregnant." Whether this was true or not C.C. had no idea; but if she could get Mao angry, so much the better. It would motivate him.

"Really?" said Mao, "But why? Why would he do a thing like that?"

"I don't know...," said C.C. But Mao's face turned sour, and he sulked.

"It's my hair, isn't it?"

"What?" said C.C., taken quite aback.

"I barely remember my mother but she didn't seem to think I should have white hair," Mao clarified, "She was horrible to me about it. She called me freaky. I wasn't even sad when she was killed in some battle I don't get and you wouldn't get either."

"You mean," said C.C., "She treated you so badly because you were albino?"

"Yeah," said Mao, "C.C., am I sterile?"

"No," said C.C., "Mao... what gave you that idea?"

"My mother said that people like me were sterile."

"Your mother didn't know the first thing about science then," said C.C., "Albinism has to be passed down through genes; only people who have them can give them to someone else. It's a long story, but...."

"Am I going to die young?"

"No," said C.C. "You're not going to die young! You'll live for a long, long, long time, I'm sure of it!" In fact, he would live forever. Or at least until he got as world-weary as her.

"People with white hair--albino-- don't die young either?"

"No!" said C.C., "There's nothing to being albino, except having white hair and light skin and eyes."

"She was lying to me all along?" Mao asked.

"Either lying or mistaken," C.C. nodded.

"So why would I want a father who would treat me just as bad? I'm glad he's gone."

C.C. felt herself lost in both a desire to relieve Mao's sense of inadequacy and to keep him interested in the idea he could be a prince. His "I'm glad he's gone" was exactly what C.C. did not want to hear. It was all she had to convince Mao to focus on something in the outside world.

"Mao... that's terrible," she said, pulling the boy in and running her fingers through his hair. "I think your white hair's beautiful," she said soothingly. "And there's no way the emperor would have ever minded it."

"How do you know?"

"Why... he has an albino daughter, whom he seems to love very much."

"Seriously?" said Mao.

"Oh, yes," said C.C. She put her lips to Mao's ear, her voice seductive. "Mao... don't you wish the emperor had kept you? Don't you wish you could live in that palace, with a nice little sister, and a nice soft feather bed, and servants to give you food, and the chance to rule over the whole country? With your intelligence, and your remarkable understanding of people, I know you'd make a great emperor."

"I don't want anyone who'd abandon me for no logical reason," said Mao.

"Maybe," C.C. mused, half to herself, half to Mao, "Maybe he just didn't want a son." That was a definite possibility. It was strange to C.C., the favoritism most royals in this day and age showed their daughters. When C.C. was born and bred, male superiority was a fact of life. Men were the patriarchal leaders, and their decisions could only be questioned by other males. But as time went on, a shift seemed to have happened. There was almost perfect equality in the world now, but it actually seemed as though women were slowly taking over. The unspoken assumption was beginning to be that men could only function as an extension of women, and would make trouble if allowed to rule alone.

"But that doesn't matter," said Mao, "Because now you can take care of me!" and he started to nuzzle C.C.'s face. "I don't need anything else!"

"Mao... Mao...," said C.C., pushing Mao's face out of hers, "Mao... doesn't it bother you, that you're related to the Chinese Emperor and he never gave you the chance to rule?"

"Why would I want to rule over most people anyway?" said Mao, "I can't be around them, and anyway, they're all horrible people who think bad things all the time. Let them be left alone to kill each other. I'm staying right here, with you." He stared appealingly into C.C.'s eyes.

"If you took over the country you could make them all your slaves so they couldn't cause trouble anymore," C.C. said, grasping at straws.

"No, I couldn't," said Mao, "That doesn't sound like a lot of fun."

"Doesn't it mean anything to you that you're the love child of royalty?!" C.C. blurted out, exasperated.

"No," said Mao. "My father was just another one of those bad people who do bad things and abandon their children for no reason because they don't want them. I hope his daughter's not like him."

"Mao...." C.C. felt herself out of options. "Mao, you need something to live for besides me."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" said Mao.

"You're royalty!" C.C. repeated.

"Yeah, I know that," said Mao. "But I don't want to be royalty. I just wanna stay with you, for ever and ever." His eyes widened and shimmered. "Anyway," he went on, "you're the one who keeps telling me to stay with you and keep my head down. All this, 'my mind's the only one you can't read,' and 'you can only be happy when you're with me,' and--" Mao fiddled with the broken watch he wore, which shone in the sun-- "how, 'bad people deserve to have bad things happen to them,' and how, 'I love you, I'll be here for you, don't listen to them, just listen to me.'" Mao threw up his hands in frustration, "If I'm supposed to listen to you and stay with you always, but try to make my way in the royal family, then what am I really supposed to do? I can't do both!" His face softened immediately and he threw his arms around C.C. "And since I can't be with anyone else all I can do is stay here with you." He began kneading her, "And you'll love me for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever. And someday we'll get married and have kids and you'll stay with me for all the rest of my life." He relapsed into purring.

"Mao... you really are just a child, after all," said C.C. Yes, that was it. He was, after all, still a child. Eleven years old was no time to make any decisions; that was why parents needed to tell their preteen children "when you're older" time and time again. If he just had a little more time to grow up, he would change his mind. No doubt.

C.C. didn't want to admit what she secretly already knew: Mao had no desires or motivations; indeed, no life, outside of her at all.

But he would, oh yes, when he got a little older. Maybe when he was fourteen? Or sixteen? Or seventeen? Then, he would take over the Code. No need to rush.

People just _didn't_ fixate all their happiness on one person. He would grow out of it. She had, after all. And not at the age of eleven.

The End

_Yeah, I know, the ending was a little abrupt, but it felt right-- there was really no other way to end it. Feedback happily appreciated._

_Next chapter'll be an obligatory run-through of Mao's family history and how C.C. found him, as I envision it._


End file.
